About this Show

[untitled]

NETWORK

DURATION
00:30:00

RATING

SCANNED IN
San Francisco, CA, USA

SOURCE
Comcast Cable

TUNER
Channel 89 (615 MHz)

VIDEO CODEC
mpeg2video

AUDIO CODEC
ac3

PIXEL WIDTH
544

PIXEL HEIGHT
480

TOPIC FREQUENCY

Alexander 7, Mexico City 2, Us 2, Ga 1, Sun Moon 1, Yeary 1, Mag Natizism 1, Cinco De Mayo 1, The City 1, Beening 1, Tequilla 1, Nitto 1, Kite 1, Mama 1, Daly City 1, Pepsi 1, Valises 1, Philippines 1, Berlin 1, Pius 1,
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  SFGTV2    [untitled]  

    January 18, 2013
    1:00 - 1:30am PST  

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the crook ed seam and the knot of material that rode her shoulder like a hump much the air began to feel thick like water. wait. he grabbed her arm and picked at the stitches he had made. saddy tried to wrench away but he picked frantically at her sleeve and the dark fury the new look that made him shiver that was not her sister came into her eyes. he didn't let go, this is no good don't worry. madison picked andtory the thread until it came loose and the blue fly witch could not tell what he had done. saddy went limp. she stared off toward the poppy mark had planted which stuck
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like finger bones out of the earth. thank you. >> hi. nice to be here. i came on the 14 mission bus. to spend 6 minutes with you. [laughter]. if there is time left over after my reading i will do knife tricks. [laughter]. short story from my collection, called love. this is a typical sunday night in the mission. rose colored dreams. what is juanita doing selling roses in the mission. wine colored, blood colors and pink roses wrapped in cellophane stuck in a plastic bucket half his size. 10 years looked like 30 stamped on his forehead a strong wind could blow him to daly city.
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the town of his birth. all the regular customers, the soft bellied ones and the lean ones the hard face cabdrivers, the triose know his face. his faded blue sweater and his profile like [inaudible]. his cow lick in black mop of hair. [inaudible] johnitto should be only asleep. you know the place the apartment building on 17th street through the lobby door with busted lock under the sign that says no loitering past the mildew that curdled your brain up 3riccety stairs belly up below the broken window. in bed the mattress on the floor
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he shares with his older sisters johnitto will dreechl a baseball glove or the perfect tail for a kite. [inaudible] 24th street with the one seed always frozen near the bottom. but the family needs more than dreams that's why my mom, sisters travelled by bus pulled by something stronger than destiny to this 2 room battleground of survival. this minute as he treads mission mama in the apartment on a sewing machine, zig-zagy threads fine as spider webs running down pants late into the appeal yellow hours of her seemingly endless nights.
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the 2 sisters with fingers delicate as ballerinas stitch beads tiny as drops that will sell for hundreds of dollars of which they will receive 25. the baby will be in the cardboard crib. and lost in dreams thick as cataracts will be chanting prayers to my an gods after an alter of bee's wax candles and pepsi soda bottles. the inscents unravelling in a stream toward the water stain on the seceiling that looks like a map of latin america. this is not mexico city where indian families wrapped in newspapers huddel uppered the
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monument of the revolution. this is not where girls peddle chicklets on street corners no this is lamission. land of palm trees and skyscrapers where there is dollars enough for cell phones, sports cars and [inaudible] by the trunk full. where a suitcase of cocaine is as easy to buy as a broken stemmed rose from his white bucket. how much for that hand full of rose buds? for fingers go up. he makes change for a 20, returns clefrjed winched with b. you tip him a couple of dollars, so what. every love struck couple
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stairing into each other's eyes. every loner with a half empty beer even a waitress after a shift receives a visit from john nitto. he returns to the faces above the steaming plates before he's out into the neon lit street leaving behind a trail of rose petals bark as sacrificial hearts. thank you. [applause]. >> whenever i had writer's block i do research so i thought i would redo a section which started as writer's block and it took place in a library. i think all you need to know is my narrater is 19.
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the object of affection is 21. max's mother is a piannist and also polish. >> i saw little of rose after she moved her 2 valises into the nurses room on valentine's day of 1939. she did not allow a gust to drive her to the louve. she did not pause to look at me when i went to the gallery wearing a new shirt. nor did she take meals to my families. sometimes this was the best. at the dinner table my parents argued. father had been unsuccessful in keeping the newspapers from others. she practiced less and less. germany is not poland said my
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father. there are no contacts in berlin. >> he's a crazy man when i hear him on the radio. i can barely understand the german he's speaking he's an austrian, no, but his accent is fake. the geshel speaks perfectly. he must be the envy of singers every where. my father reached across his dinner plate and laid a hand on hers. she snatched it away. you know nothing. now you have butter on your sleeve. we neither mentioned our absent guest nor the chair awaiting her except on one occasion. father reported [inaudible] called a certain gog an a good
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deal. princess never spoke of money and bought paintings without inquiring about the price she left those details to her lawyer. snobby old cow is hamy father called her. i felt sorry for rose with father it was easy to make a mistake and not know it. you could sense it but not identify the crime much the second week of rose's apprenticeship the empty fourth chair disappeared. thank god you stop wearing that wretch ed clone. all my food tasted like must have beening. pity the polls they lost you. my mother said no they are trying to jerk germany off with one hand and the soviet unions with the other. weate in silence. the madam took hot long showers because i heard water rushing in
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the pipes and whether i turned mine on found it cold. a yellow square in the courtiard into the night. i watched for a shadow or shape. rigging a motorcycle mirror on a string and dangled it on a fishing lure and failed. i skulted in the hall way in the gallery and street hoping to catch her there. it only upset my father. we spoke german to each other as a nervous joke. i tinkered with the motorcycle mirror a started lifting bar bells. for a month mother talked of the germany refugee question and asked if it was better for jews to go to the philippines or the dominican republic.
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pius 11th was buried. the discover of king tut's tomb also died. the italians called a call to arms to war babies the first time around. when i visited the draft board i noticed my card was filed with a crease at it's corner. farther's laughter was louder than ever. clients who decided to buy had their paintings shipped to houses in the country. i noticed lucie hiding bags of sugar in the closet where i kept my tennis racket. to mother he repeated. don't worry, she replied, i do. i wonder if they rrmed they had a son at all. yet that month seemed to pass more slowly than others. rose's presence was fleeting.
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i passed by father's office as she sat by the type writer in a green sweater with a hole in the elbow. i found her in the bathroom once with a black tongue as a pen had burst when she licked it's anybody. i handed her a towel and said, just ruin the cloth. to the light in the courtyard i sang along with my new american record. there is a hungry yearning burning inside of me and i felt every word in the marrow of my bones. august said, i hate this cold porter so a played the album at a low volume and closed the window. when my curiousity about rose overwhelmed my common sense i investigated her living quarters i found her diaries and learned the secrets of her heart.
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searching in the spice cabinet lucie kept full of whisky i found a key. i planned my invasion for that afternoon. thank you very much. [applause] >> i wrote a new book i'm working on. i'm from mexico city and i write about mexican stuff. i fear i would write a book to deal with that and get it out of the way. this is part of this project. my main character is alexander. [inaudible] don't take it personal. my aim, i guess is to at the end of my novel that [inaudible]
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good mexican novelists. alexander looked at the mirror and saw a mexican stairing back at him. the bad mexican had paid alexander a visit much the conversation from last night's party brought him back in full force. why did he always have to open his big mouth. why tell people that don't care that he hated and despised? he actually might like the [inaudible] hated me english and spanish he could not understand how someone could say he was mexican having been born in the usa. he doesn't like going to mexican places. he does not like to discuss beer and shots of tequilla. he never listened to spanish radio stations.
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no more mexicans. who did not have a problem being objective with a mexican. [inaudible]. i should try to do something about this he thought this is not good. may be i should try, may be i should make an effort. may be i should drive to the mission and spend quality time with my own people. i'm sure it would be simple. he doesn't have to be so hard. i am sure anyone who looks at me and talks to me will believe i'm another south of the border specimen and never figure out i happen to be a self hating mexican. the self hating something made him think of the self hating jew. he thought of george constanza and woody allen.
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he thought of philip and alexander's father yelling and screaming telling his son he was the son of the family shames. you don't be deserved to be called a view. you, alexander are being embarrassed by the surface of the mirror. you don't deserve to be a mexican. nor the fact that mexicans are the hardest working people and came here to work and give their children a better future. there is no mexican who tried to justify with arguments like a fantasy to celebrate cinco de mayo. you, my friend are the self hating [inaudible] of all mexicans. you are nothing but a big master
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baeter. foolish man who hides from the rest of the world and sees his shame in order to dream a man can exist without a pas port or green card and labels him as what he is. remember the ones who tried to pass as something else? remember the [inaudible] of life. the [inaudible] of the nation of the [inaudible]. remember the guy from tijuana you met years ago and is proclaimed he was italian because he would and people believed him. as if being italian was a step up. you alexander have changed your entire people. you who dream of an american time will be relevant you can
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think in order to be an american writer you have to quit your brownness because the adjective will get in the way of the important noun. english language will impose the adjective before the noun and your face will be imposed before the actual meaning of your life. the other one is not the [inaudible] but the black parent. that one there is the yellow which he willo player. language makes sense [inaudible] language is never innocent. it is a familiar domaine of the ones who came out with it's loss and structure. this, alexander, is not your tongue. your tongue is muteulated, it's gone, rotten in your mouth along with the silence of the days where you became invisible you bad copy cat.
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despite the rage and the disappointment of your own kin. thank you. [applause] >> this is a scene from my novel [inaudible]. it seemed like a great opportunity to get to do this here. okay. what time is the first reader anyway? i didn't like bars this crowded. someone elbode me in the back. when i turned around i didn't know who the elbow belong said. relax. i didn't expect there to be this many people i thought they would be at the bar with the travel writers. i thought they the be with the hip sters i guess we are not hip sters we can't guess who they are into. we lessened the hipster intimidation factor and picked
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out the smart guy. this year we selected postmen pausal writers on the meaning of life. here i was, the city never fails to surprise me much the crowd was quieting. people were pointing toward the stage. i woman of 60 clamored on to it. she had silver hair and had a long velvet skirt. i'm senora watson. there was applause. she lowered her head slightly to indicate her humility. i must confess i was surprised to be invited tonight. i'm embarrassed to say i didn't know young people were drunkenly stumbling through the streets in the name of literature. there is a mag natizism we were
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tealing. we were in a bar. here is my flawed worthwhile attempt to approach the meaning of life. she read a first person account of a 23 year marriage. every word of every paragraph was tuned there was not a wrong note. it was so powerful imented to believe it was her marriage. that last paragraph contained the wedding vow when he swore he would not be afraid to let her chafrnl him much the crowd froze after she finished. then we exploded into applause. she stood in the spotlight with tears in her eyes. she's a retired psychotherapist. >> go to her. this was a scene of a romantic
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comedy. i had to catch her at the airport before she left me forever. she was stopped by audience member after audience member. iment to talk to her but what would i say? well, what are you trying to get from her. her question was koejent for someone who had polished off her third drink. i want to come out of retirement and i want her to help me. i don't think it's realistic. you keep thinking i need to find the restroom. i wasn't listening to the reader on stage. she was talking to 3-20 something women. she back and grabbing at my arm. we need to leave now. why? >> dustin is here and he is
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with someone and she's cute. >> did he see you? >> no. i can't talk to him i'm a mess. are you sure he's really with her and they are not friends. >> she's hanging all over him and i didn't get to pee. >> let's go, then. we fought our way out the door. i cast the last look with senora it was just as well i hasn't found anything to say. i tried to calm aguilarissa, she schemed in terror. i can't go in there what if kevin is in there with his wife. what if i keep seeing them. >> she leaned on the door of the laundry mat.
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the asian woman looked at us and resumed folding. your ex's will not be there they are ill literate. >> i bet justin is engaged to that girl. she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket except for the cancer part. >> i'm never getting married. she sank to the ground her back pressed against the glass. who says that's the meaning of life. it was a beautiful story but if you think about it it's hoeky. there is nothing hoeky about loving someone with your heart and having them love you the same way. that's how everyone doesn't love me. i didn't know what to say. there was nothing hoeky about a
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great love. yeary 3, 712 and 23 had been painful. some had been bory put it together and it was a life of great love. that was the only way it could be done. empty sidewalk was jammed with people. i held her as they streamed by. thank you. >> from the last 2 pages i wrote in my novel. after the events in entertainment room number 17. with the man who had been pretending to be her husband. the imposter didn't have his own name. he used ga as he wore ga's clothes and slept as her husband had on the couch. he drove with the high beams on
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and reunification boulevard. they were in a mustang and there were no other cars on the road. passing through the park they saw families in the dark steeling chest nuts from the trees. at dinner everyone called him commander ga even though he didn't look like commander ga. see knew that this man was not going to leave that her husband was not coming back be and from now on this man wouldn't be wished away. he would have to be dealt with as her husband had to be dealt with. they crossed the river the bridge lights showing the color of his bruises. they drove through the cemetery and the amusement park. she asked about the vehicle they were driving. he turned side ways in the road.
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the headlights was a man running from the zoo with an oan egg in his hand. do you feel the man hungry enough to steel or for the man who must hunt him down. >> is that the bird who suffers? >> thwhere did you get this ca? he didn't answer. you know it's a fake; right . this car, he said is revered in america. they are quite rare much i recognize this car it was a prop in one of my movies. this was the car he was escaping i saw kissed a trader in the back seat. how did you get this thing off
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the property lot? one switch in the road above the gardens and they were at her house. inside the children were asleep and he pulled a bottle of [inaudible] from the cool place under the sink he held it with a hand who's combukelled fanned yellow. you have chosen to become a man born to violence. he answered it was the commander who chose me. okay sun moon said i will turn down the sheets for us much the bed faced a balcony over looking the mountain. across the river was a glow much the 2 disrobed and entered where they lay awake waiting until 10 o'clock. it's a common misconception that listening devices turn off in
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the power. with a can of peaches the kalt rad had given them. when the house and city below went dark moon spoke, here are the rules she said. children will reveal their names to you when they decide to do so. you will never use ta eshe k wo on them. you will never touch me. she said. from below they heard dogs bang in the zoo. wait, i take that back. you are allowed to touch me only if i touch you first. are there more rules? i'm thinking she said. a quick blue flash filled the room and all was dark again. in prison he said, so many people through themselves at the electric fence they had to build another fence to keep them off of